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Has anybody else here read The Meaning Of Liff? I feel we need a new word to describe that very particular kind of frustration that comes when awaiting an historical death certificate, in the hope of filling a hole in the family tree. Or birth certificate, if you want to be a bit less morbid - it's just that it's mostly been death that I've been investigating of late. I don't know if you've noticed, but our ancestors are especially good at dying. They're almost as good at it as Anton Lesser. Or David Collings.
I'm feeling rather pleased with myself anyway (frustrations notwithstanding). The story so far: My maternal grandmother never knew her father. She knew who he was, but she last set eyes on him when she was about two years old; grew up several thousand miles away, on a different continent; and emigrated to the UK in the forties to find him dead and gone. The fact that she was illegitimate made her unwilling to talk about it all to the rest of us, but my mother has always wanted to know where she comes from. She had no idea where to begin though. Enter the internet, stage right. Armed with an unhelpfully common name, an estimated date of birth (we know he was 25 in July of 1922), and a vague idea of where he was living in 1920 (narrowed down to three counties, probably), I dived in and began to cross-reference. And hit obstacle after obstacle after obstacle! Dates that didn't match, names that changed spelling with the weather. Trails that led nowhere. It was like I was chasing The Man Who Did Not Exist. I was quite sure he and his parents had never filled in a census form, or registered a birth or a marriage. Nothing added up, anywhere.
And then, finally, I caught the little beggar. A wholly unexpected spelling of the surname, found in a wildcard search, a bit of patient checking back through the censuses to see what matched, and presto! Suddenly, in just a few days, the whole family finally fell together. Consequently I've spent the last week buried up to my eyeballs in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, in a world of penniless, itinerant Irish labourers, centered around Glasgow and the north of England. It's been quite a surprise to look up and see twenty-first century Gloucestershire out of the window.
So, from being Mr Mysterious, my great-grandfather has now coalesced into a fully formed family man, the eldest of nine children. Four of them didn't make it out of childhood. One remains as frustratingly elusive as he himself was last month, and has consequently become my latest obsession. I will find her. In the meantime, I've been able to give my mother a family tree going back to two sets of her great-great grandparents, including an 1860 marriage record for one set. Basically I'm AJ Simon. In a wig, obviously. I think I've probably also gone cross-eyed, and seem to be suffering from some sort of time displacement syndrome. So if I've missed anything major - sorry. It's not easy reading DreamWidth in 1911. I'll do some catching up, if I can coax my brain back to 2018. In the meantime, yay! It's only taken me two years.
Have a good long weekend. :)
PS: If you're looking for any ancestors in Scotland, this site is brill: https://www.scotlandspeople.gov.uk/
I'm feeling rather pleased with myself anyway (frustrations notwithstanding). The story so far: My maternal grandmother never knew her father. She knew who he was, but she last set eyes on him when she was about two years old; grew up several thousand miles away, on a different continent; and emigrated to the UK in the forties to find him dead and gone. The fact that she was illegitimate made her unwilling to talk about it all to the rest of us, but my mother has always wanted to know where she comes from. She had no idea where to begin though. Enter the internet, stage right. Armed with an unhelpfully common name, an estimated date of birth (we know he was 25 in July of 1922), and a vague idea of where he was living in 1920 (narrowed down to three counties, probably), I dived in and began to cross-reference. And hit obstacle after obstacle after obstacle! Dates that didn't match, names that changed spelling with the weather. Trails that led nowhere. It was like I was chasing The Man Who Did Not Exist. I was quite sure he and his parents had never filled in a census form, or registered a birth or a marriage. Nothing added up, anywhere.
And then, finally, I caught the little beggar. A wholly unexpected spelling of the surname, found in a wildcard search, a bit of patient checking back through the censuses to see what matched, and presto! Suddenly, in just a few days, the whole family finally fell together. Consequently I've spent the last week buried up to my eyeballs in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, in a world of penniless, itinerant Irish labourers, centered around Glasgow and the north of England. It's been quite a surprise to look up and see twenty-first century Gloucestershire out of the window.
So, from being Mr Mysterious, my great-grandfather has now coalesced into a fully formed family man, the eldest of nine children. Four of them didn't make it out of childhood. One remains as frustratingly elusive as he himself was last month, and has consequently become my latest obsession. I will find her. In the meantime, I've been able to give my mother a family tree going back to two sets of her great-great grandparents, including an 1860 marriage record for one set. Basically I'm AJ Simon. In a wig, obviously. I think I've probably also gone cross-eyed, and seem to be suffering from some sort of time displacement syndrome. So if I've missed anything major - sorry. It's not easy reading DreamWidth in 1911. I'll do some catching up, if I can coax my brain back to 2018. In the meantime, yay! It's only taken me two years.
Have a good long weekend. :)
PS: If you're looking for any ancestors in Scotland, this site is brill: https://www.scotlandspeople.gov.uk/
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